We sit indoors and talk of the col
And every gust that gathers streng
Is a threat to the house. But the
We think of the tree. If it never
We’ll know, we say, that this was

Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,

Happy ye leaves when as those lill
Which hold my life in their dead d
Shall handle you and hold in loves
Lyke captives trembling at the vic
And happy lines, on which with sta

I note the obvious differences
in the human family.
Some of us are serious,
some thrive on comedy.
Some declare their lives are lived

To step over the low wall that div
Road from concrete walk above the
Brings sharply back something know
The miniature gaiety of seasides.
Everything crowds under the low ho

‘Hometown’; well, most admit an af
grey, tangled streets I cycled on
cigarette
in the back lane, and, fool, my fi
First everything. Faded torments;

Up, black, striped and demasked li
At a funeral mass, the skunk’s tai
Paraded the skunk. Night after ni
I expected her like a visitor.The
My desk light softened beyond the

Lord, the Roman hyacinths are blo
The winter sun creeps by the snow
The stubborn season has made stand
My life is light, waiting for the
Like a feather on the back of my h

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief
Is it that they are born again

All I know is a door into the dar
Outside, old axles and iron hoops
Inside, the hammered anvil’s short
The unpredictable fantail of spark
Or hiss when a new shoe toughens i

There are similarities
I notice: that the hills
which the eyes make flat as a wall
together, open as I move
to let me through; become

“O who can ever gaze his fill,”
Farmer and fisherman say,
“On native shore and local hill,
Grudge aching limb or callus on th
Father, grandfather stood upon thi